IAmAwesome42
by Beyond An Anomaly
Summary: Star Fox has dealt with monkeys, dinosaurs, aliens and fish people...but never would they have they guessed that they would have to encounter their greatest friend and worst nightmare: the Internet. From behind the keyboard of ROB 64's computer, the team is soon to delve into the cyber world, with ROB serving as their guide...and IAmAwesome42 serving as their alias.
1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet day in the vast yet unpredictable expansion of space.

The Great Fox housed the members of the Star Fox team, whom, after battle and war, felt the need to unwind in the more serene area of the Lylat System. Relaxation meant multiple things to members of the Star Fox team: tinkering, snuggling, flipping through the pages of the latest desirable and folding down every two pages...

Looking for your robot...

"ROB?"

The elderly rabbit slowly walked down one of the many corridors of the Great Fox in pursuit of his robot, ROB 64. At his feeble age, making a sandwich was becoming too much to bear for his brittle bones, as his fading memory made him forget if he preferred whole wheat over pumpernickel, or vice versa. His robot, however, knew exactly what he liked, as he made a sandwich for him everyday aboard the ship at 12:05 on the dot, and not a second more.

It was 12:08, with no sign of either one of the loaves, and especially no sign of the navigator of Star Fox.

"ROB?" Peppy repeated, "It's lunch time! Where's my sandwich?"

Still, no response.

Peppy looked inside every crate, every barrel, every nook and cranny in his wake, eventually finding himself walking into his fellow, younger teammates' rooms...

(*)

"Peppy?" Slippy stated speedily, hastily picking up his pencil and blueprints from his desk. Peppy found these actions rather odd, but dismissed them only for the moment. "What is it?"

"Have you seen ROB? It's 12:10!"

"And he hasn't made your sandwich yet?"

"Yes!"

"Hmm...that's weird." Slippy would then turn down to his work, mustering, "Well, I haven't seen him. Sorry!"

Peppy huffed. He then gestured at the blueprints in the frog's sticky, small hands, mustering, "And what exactly are you working on?"

"Um..." Slippy hummed hesitantly, and after a few seconds, he replied back with, "A...a new design for a...a ship."

"Are you su-"

"Yep."

"I-"

"It's gonna be a new ship. W-With lasers!"

"But our ships already ha-"

"Purple lasers!" Slippy pretended his hands were small shooters, pointing them at Peppy and awkwardly winking while spitting,"Pew! Pew pew! P-Pew! Heheh..."

Silence.

All Peppy did was slowly nod, and at this, he quietly made his exit. Slippy saw him out, afterwards speedily laying back out the drawn foundation for a Self-Sufficient Hugging Machine.

(*)

"We, uh..." Fox stared down at Krystal, whose head rested gently against him chest,then pivoted his head up to Peppy. The hare kept nodding rapidly towards the vulpine and vixen, waiting for a response, but little did he know they were in the middle of a romantic evening eating microwave pizza and watching a back-to-back marathon of Scrubs.

"You haven't..." Peppy started, stamping his foot. He appeared tense, and why wouldn't he? It was 12:15!

"Seen him." Krystal finished impatiently, trying to see if Elliot was to ever find her homeless, pregnant patient in the middle of Christmas Eve. Her head was turned away from her captain, as she knew without using the power of her mind that Peppy was very well capable of constructing his own sandwich, even at his age. "We haven't seen him."

Peppy's eyes squinted menacingly through his spectacles. He then turned his head to the television, taking a few paces towards Krystal, and whispered in her ear...

"Turke is the one that ends up finding the pregnant patient after his whole tangent about faith, and he thinks he sees the North Star, which ended up being the thing that led him to her. You would also be pleased to know that Cox's friends delivered their baby safely, even though J.D. had the inability to film the delivery as he promised since he accidently forgot to put another tape into the video camera. So, Cox decided to make a fake video as a replacement, where he comedically states that the reason why the fake baby, whom his friends thought was their baby, didn't have any hair was because he shaved their baby's head so it wouldn't have lice as a newborn." Krystal glared at him with Fox pursing his lip, and at this, Peppy retorted, "I saw this episode yesterday. _During lunch._"

And thus, Peppy left the room, shutting the door behind him.

He would be pleased to know that his two colleagues were four minutes into the episode out of twenty-two.

(*)

"Nah," Falco didn't even look up from the pages, and all he muttered like everyone else was, "Haven't seen him."

"Do you even know who you're talking to right now?!" Peppy was beginning to get antsy. Here it was, 12:20, and still. No. Sandwich.

Hearing the tone, Falco's eyes peeked over the pages of the magazine. After he saw the floppy ears and glazed over spectacles, he sighed, "Oh. Hey, Old Man. When did ya get here?"

"Falco!" Peppy growled. "I've been here this entire time!"

"Quick," Falco's pen met the edge of the page, as his eyes were focused on the Crossword on page 27. "Gimme a seven-letter word for starving. Starts with a P, fourth letter is a K."

"Peckish!" Falco nodded at this, confidently jotting down the remaining five letters. "And that's what I am right now, Falco!"

"Why?" the pheasant asked, still focused on his little game next to a gorgeous picture of two models playing volleyball that he just HAD to bookmark.

Peppy stood there bewildered.

"I just stood here explaining it to you for TWO WHOLE MIN-"

"An eight-letter word for angry or argumentative."

"Agitated!"

"Wow," Falco remarked. "I didn't even have to give you any letters for that one."

"Falco, are you even listening?!"

"And now, a four-letter word for a very difficult, cocky, and highly deluded person."

The hare's fists balled up, as he felt the rage boil up at a high temperature within him. He stormed out the door, and before he slammed it shut, he rasped bitterly, "YOU." and forcefully pushed the door almost off its hinges.

Falco, as a response, glared at the puzzle and shouted back, "I said four, Old Man! Goin' deaf, or somethin'?" He then scribbled the word, "JERK" on his paper while muttering to himself, "Can the guy even make his own meals?"

(*)

When no, he couldn't.

Why couldn't anyone understand that?

The sandwiches ROB concocted were the sandwiches that kept the hare going. Ever since he tasted that deli turkey and provolone with honey mustard, jalepenos, and caramelized onions toasted in between two pieces of crunchy ciabatta bread, he held the robot responsible for what he put in his stomach.

The food he made was more than a necessity.

It was _LOVE._

And Peppy NEEDED that love to function, damn it!

He paced back and forth in his office, staring out at the vast expansion of Lylat, where they were about a lightyear away from home and that much distance away from a Subway. His stomach grumbled, signaling impatience, as it was 12:35; thirty minutes behind schedule.

"Oh, ROB..." Peppy was tired of looking for his ambrosia. He needed it from the robot, and how not evn his own creation could possibly understand... "Where are-"

But he was interrupted.

The clicking of a mouse could be heard from below his feet, as his irises pointed towards the floor. The oddly-colored plank stuck out like a sore thumb, revealing his "Secret Lair," and even though everyone on board knew where said "secret" compartment was, only one other person besides the Big Boss Man himself was allowed access...

Peppy got down on his knees, wincing a little due to developing stiffness, and knocked on the panel.

"ROB?" he questioned with uncertainty. "You in there?"

What was once clicking turned into silence.

"Um..." Peppy stared down at his watch. "It's 12:41. You were supposed to make my sandwich over thirty minutes ago, rememb-"

But he was interrupted, as the plank creaked slightly open to reveal the robot's hand holding up a small, silver platter with a BLT placed daintily upon it. It looked hastily made, however, but like the mechanic's bizarre outbursts, Peppy dismissed it.

He grinned at the food prepared by ROB 64, as he stated gratefully, "Thank you, ROB. Boy, am I peckish!"

He took the platter from the metallic hand, and the compartment door slammed shut. Clicking ensued, and Peppy ate his lunch happily accompanied by the sounds of the clattering of a keyboard and the curling back-and-forth of a mouse wheel.

Little did he know that the robot using these two mechanisms was soon to be manifested into a problem for lonely frogs, addicted foxes, self-absorbed pheseants, and even himself.


	2. Chapter 2

The computer screen that brightly reflected off of the golden robot's metallic skin was the only vantage point of ROB 64 at that moment, as he hastily typed away on the small keyboard mounted before him. The red scanner on his face noted every single little word or symbol or image that dared to show itself upon his screen, and no matter the being, it was ROB's job to analyze it fully.

He had "surfed," as those commonfolk call it, the Internet whenever he seemed to have the chance. This was a new world, a frontier, dare one say it, for him to travel and scrutinize to his nonexistent heart's content.

And no questions were asked.

All ROB could hear besides the clanking of his metalloid fingers against the plastic keys was the satisfied mumblings of a hare who was thoroughly enjoying his lunch. His late lunch. His not-as-good-as-it-should-be, rushed, not pre-meditated, mediocre, BS-ed late lunch.

But no apologies were given.

There was this...this "cat" in a big T-shirt playing on a piano with a beautifully catchy rhythm.

Some things were just that important.

Then, the hare spoke. Oh, he must have been done. Now the robot had no choice but to "communicate" or whatever these living beings called it.

"Ya know, ROB," his creator started, "Not like it's a problem...but my sandwich was pretty late today. Why was that?"

_Why a lot of things, Peppy. _ROB wished he could muster. _Why Slippy had his first girlfriend [and then got dumped] at thirty. Why literally no one watches Scrubs. Why crossword puzzles in trashy magazines are actually really freaking hard._

But no. ROB had to come up with SOME answer...

"I..." ROB began, surfing through his own mental database. "I concurred to form the sandwich in which you requested with an extra amount of 'love,' sir."

There was a pause, a pause at which ROB was hoping for that pause to end quickly so he could go back on his maiden voyage. After that moment, the hare finally replied with, "Haha, well, I guess you can't argue with THAT logic!"

_...What logic was there, you blithering idiot?_

"Yes, sir."

And after dealing with that rodent captain, ROB went right back to his brilliant research, while Peppy, he supposed, was doing whatever elderly rabbits did in their spare time. Maybe wondering how he only had one daughter yet he was a rabbit, or how he had arthritis in his legs, and the pure irony of how he couldn't even jump.

He enjoyed the silence. It was a nice atmosphere to continue his research, with nothing but the soft click of a mouse and ticking away on the keyboard to enhance the ambience. As a part of his work, he checked the list he created in another window to see the progress he made venturing the inexplicably known and unknown corners of cyberspace.

He could now add "feline dawdling with instrument" onto the list.

It was quite the expansive document, that list. Hundreds and hundreds of searches, adding onto ROB's Internet portfolio. "Humans doing idiotic things," was his favorite part of the list, along with its several subcategories, such as, "swallowing practically lethal spices in one gulp," and, "lying on the stomach on a very high, steep surface," along with, "following three orange women around 'Beverly Hills.'" Maybe this was his favorite part of this excursion: seeing the behavoir of specimen through the eyes of seven billion people from millions of years ago.

The humans had left the system a long, long time ago, and this "Internet" was all that was left of their existence. Seeing all of their paraphenilia was simply fascinating to the robot, who took note of every single thing in the database, which, to his knowledge, would be around forever.

Now, all that was left was Lylat, which still had this primitive system in the airwaves, probably for the same reason ROB was infatuated: to observe the lifeforms from way back when.

All that was left was them.

Them.

Them.

_Us._

_"star fox"_

ROB wasn't exactly too sure what he would find, but he believed he reached that point everyone on the Internet reaches at one point or another where they literally look up anything and see what comes up. People from Lylat still got on the Internet and updated whatever they decided, yet the things added by humans was borderline sacred. It was an unspoken rule not to touch the cat videos and the "Cinammon Challenges," the "planking," or "the Kardashians."

But the Lylat people, as said before, did indeed add to their pleasure. And Star Fox...Star Fox saved them _five times. _Surely there was something on the Internet that would justify their heroism and

"...OH. MY. GOD."

The navigator had to avert his scanner from his discovery, his discovery of the images, the videos, the documents uploaded to the world wide web added just recently. He had to whirl his head back around to see if he saw what had just seen and-oh Christ in a can-he did indeed.

Quickly, he shut off the computer, walking up from his secret compartment and slowly stepping away from the monitor, with no word uttering from his metallic muzzle. For the first time since he was able to function, he believed that maybe keeping up with those orange women didn't sound so terrible.

For the first time, Lylat had actually forsaken him in ways no one could possibly imagine.

Not many would want to.


End file.
